


Stepping Through My Shadow (coming out the other side)

by cacoethes79 (FaeryQueen07)



Series: Forty Six and 2 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Transgender, Transsexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeryQueen07/pseuds/cacoethes79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles wakes up to Derek lounging in the chair by his desk, book in hand, and thinks maybe he’s still asleep and dreaming. Or possibly having a nightmare.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stepping Through My Shadow (coming out the other side)

**Author's Note:**

> See end for detailed notes. Please note warnings.

Stiles wakes up to Derek lounging in the chair by his desk, book in hand, and thinks maybe he’s still asleep and dreaming. Or possibly having a nightmare, depending on _why_ Derek is in his bedroom. He sits up, glad for the fact that sleeping nude really isn’t an option and does his best to seem unconcerned by his unexpected -- and uninvited -- guest. Derek doesn’t look up as he turns the page, and his voice is low when he talks.

“Your dad is making breakfast. Pack meeting tomorrow at at noon.”

“Um, dude, I have a cell phone.”

“Uh huh.”

“Was it really necessary to break into my room?”

“I didn’t. Your dad sent me up to wake you. I figured five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.”

Stiles has nothing to say to that, so he rolls out of bed and lands on his knees with a thud. He hates mornings. He glances up in time to see Derek smother a grin and lets his own break through as he stands. He scratches at his stomach and twists to look at the clock, then freezes because he’s not wearing his binder and while he’s not large, he’s not exactly an A-cup either.

“Get dressed, brush your teeth and then come eat breakfast,” Derek says, interrupting Stiles’ minor freak out.

“Whoa, man, what? You’re eating breakfast with us now?”

“Shut up and get dressed.”

Derek leaves without a backward glance and Stiles wastes no time grabbing everything he needs. He showers in record time because he’s probably not going to have time later, before his session with his therapist, and then jogs down the stairs. He has to pause in the doorway to the kitchen because his dad is at the table reading the paper and Derek is sitting across from him, book still in hand, and it’s all really, really surreal.

“Right. So. This is kind of weird. And awkward.”

“Derek came by to offer to drive you to your appointment since your Jeep is in the shop, but I told him it wasn’t necessary.”

“Oh.” And yeah, Stiles completely forgot about that. “Wait, then how am I getting there?”

“I’m taking you. Thought I’d sit in on the session with you.” There’s an odd glint in his father’s eyes as he talks and Stiles wonders just what is going on.

“Um. Oookaaaay.” He serves himself some of the scrambled eggs and bacon, then glances at the table. His dad has a plate, but Derek doesn’t and it seems rude to eat without offering him something. “Have you--”

“Before I came over,” Derek replies, cutting him off. That apparently doesn’t stop him from filching a couple of pieces of bacon the moment Stiles sits down, but since Stiles saw that coming, there’s extra on the plate.

“Right, well, since you have a ride, I’m off. I’m meeting with Allison’s dad.”

“Oh. OH! Wait, dude, oh my god. Are you going to ask about Danny? Dude, you should totally ask about Danny. Danny would be an _awesome_ addition.”

Derek glares at him, but Stiles just grins around a mouthful of food. Mostly because he knows it grosses Derek out when he does that.

“Shut up. And do not breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even tomorrow.”

“Oh shit, dude. Is that what the meeting is for?”

“What meeting?” his dad asks, and his gaze is focused, like he’s waiting for Stiles to give something away.

Stiles ponders just saying, ‘oh, the pack meeting Derek is holding because he’s an alpha werewolf.’ He glances over to where Derek is threatening death with his eyes and decides against it. He settles for saying,

“Meeting. Get together. Scott, Allison, Jackson, Lydia and I all go over to Derek’s and then he lectures us on not getting into trouble and how we need to listen to him and stop getting him arrested and blah blah blah. And then he makes us help him work on the house. Which, dude, you’re totally going to need to tear down the whole room Kate died in. It’s creepy.”

“I live there.” Derek stares at him, like that’s going to make it mean something.

“Yeah, no. You, like, inhabit that space, dude, but that’s not living. Scott’s house totally has a guest room and his mom...well, she might try to hit you with a baseball bat if you climb through any windows, so I suggest using the front door.”

“Do I want to know?” Sheriff Stilinski asks.

“Probably not.” Stiles takes a meaningful bite of food.

“Actually, Derek, I meant to say this earlier, but your house is condemned. I understand you’re working to rebuild, but you can’t live there. And while the McCall household does have a guest room, so does the Stilinski household.” He looks almost smug when Stiles gapes at him, betrayed. “We’d be happy to have you.”

“Uh.”

Stiles basks in the amazingness that is Derek speechless and manages to take a picture with his phone. He immediately sends it to Scott with the caption ‘ _My dad invited Derek to move in with us while he works on his house. Totally worth it to see his face like this._ ’ Less than a minute later he finds himself sending, ‘ _Save me. Derek Hale is moving into our guest room. D:_ ’

“Thank you, Sheriff Stilinski. I’ll pick up my stuff after I stop by the Argent’s.” He smirks evilly at Stiles before ducking out.

“Jesus, dad. _Why_?”

“Because it’s the least I can do, considering _my son_ had him _wrongly arrested_. _Twice_.”

The room is silent except for the sound of Stiles wolfing down the last of his food. It’s only as he’s loading the dishwasher that he recalls what else was said earlier and he turns to face his dad, worried. “So why’re you coming with me?”

“I thought it would be good for us to meet with Dr. Grayson together. Go get whatever you need, kiddo. I moved the appointment up to 12:30pm, so we need to hit the road.”

Stiles is halfway up the stairs when his phone buzzes and he grins at Scott’s reply.

‘ _Better yours than mine. Mom still thinks he’s a drug dealer._ ’ There’s absolutely no sympathy in his message, but whatever. Stiles will make him pay for that betrayal later, possibly by kicking his ass at Mario Kart for the four hundredth time.

His dad is already in the cruiser when Stiles stumbles back downstairs, so he locks up and jogs down the walk. At some point they’re going to need to get another car, but it’s kinda cool driving around in the sheriff’s car for now. When Stiles reaches for the radio, his dad doesn’t stop him.

~ * ~

“Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski. It’s good to have you both here together.” Dr. Grayson leads them into the room and waves them towards the chairs. Stiles collapses down into the closest one, his knee bouncing anxiously. Now that they’re here, he’s suddenly afraid to ask why they’re doing a group session. Dr. Grayson is all warm smiles when he sees how nervous Stiles is, and the pat on the shoulder that he delivers is without condescension.

“Calm down, Stiles. Sheriff, did you tell Stiles why you are joining us today.”

His dad gets this awkward look, his brow wrinkling up, but he makes eye contact and holds it when he begins to speak, so Stiles is pretty sure he’s not about to get bad news.

“When you first started seeing Dr. Grayson, I came with you and laid a few ground rules. One of them was that I wanted you to wait until you’re eighteen before you had any kind of surgery. At the time, I was still--your mother was always the one who went with you to sessions and she had done all the research. I support you, I do, but I was so overwhelmed. I needed time to recover from her death and to figure out how to be there for you the way she was.” He looks away and Stiles can see his throat work, knows his dad is fighting back tears. Four years later and talk of his mom’s death still leaves them both aching. Then his dad is speaking again, gaze once more on Stiles. “Anyway, I started seeing Dr. Grayson about six months after you, usually by phone, but occasionally in person, work permitting. He’s--there was a lot I hadn’t really thought about, things I tried _not_ to think about.”

Stiles is stunned. He honestly had no clue, and he’s not sure what to think. “I, um. I don’t--are you taking it back? You don’t--do you not want me to?” His chest is tight, like there’s a rubber band wrapped around it and he thinks it’s only a matter of minutes, if that, before this becomes a full blown panic attack. The thought of stopping his hormone treatments, of not being allowed to have the surgery done... They have been the only thing really keeping him together, and he’s pretty sure he won’t last if this is taken away from him, especially when he’s so close. His father’s next words leave him breathless for a whole other reason.

“No. No, son. I wouldn’t--no.” He shakes his head, looking pained, and reaches out to take hold of Stiles’ hand. “Dr. Grayson and I have talked about moving it up. You’ve been diagnosed with Gender Dysphoria, you’ve already started the hormone treatments, and even though there were some issues getting the right levels... That’s not--I just want you to be happy, Stiles. I want you to be happy, like you haven’t ever really been. And I want you to be comfortable in your own skin. Dr. Grayson and I agree that this is the next step in getting you there.”

Sheriff Stilinski lapses into silence and Stiles just stares at him, breathless and shocked and so close to tears it’s embarrassing. He wants to shout, wants to jump up and whoop at the top of his lungs, but his legs won’t work and the sound is stuck somewhere low in his throat. His grip on his dad’s hand tightens and Stiles wills him to understand what he can’t say.

Dr. Grayson clears his throat, bringing their attention to him. “Today we’re going to discuss the top surgery, and everything you’ll need to know before starting, beginning with the different types. Stiles, Sheriff, here are some fact sheets listing the pros and cons of each type of surgery. Go ahead and look them over for a minute and when you’re ready, we can begin addressing any concerns or questions you have.”

Dr. Grayson hands them several handouts and it would probably be easier to do this if Stiles let go of his father’s hand, but he’s really not sure that’s a possibility. Not right now. Not when he’s just been told things are going to start progressing. That’s he’s going to be--that he’s going to be one more step closer to being _complete_. Not hating his reflection.

He’s so ready for this.

They spend the rest of the session and a half talking and planning and by the end of it, Stiles is a wreck. It’s all wonderful news, but it’s exhausting finding out that he’s going to start the next step sooner than he thought and that his dad has been seeing Stiles' therapist because he wants to figure out how to be more actively supportive. Stiles cries on the way home and his dad doesn’t say a word, just reaches out to hold his hand briefly.

When they get home, Stiles is _still_ a wreck, so he lays down on the couch and his dad grabs one of his disgusting non-alcoholic beers and sits in the recliner next to the couch and they watch Saturday afternoon cartoons because anything else will probably be too serious. They don’t speak, but that’s not really an issue. They spoke so much during the session that Stiles is pretty sure he used up the day’s allotment of words. At some point pizza is ordered and Stiles eats it in a daze, but his next real cognizant moment is when his dad shakes him out of his emotional stupor and tells him to go to bed.

He stumbles up the stairs and strips down to just his binder and his boxer-briefs. His phone falls out of his pocket and he picks it up intending to charge it, but finds himself calling Scott instead, even though it’s just after 2am. He’s sort of surprised when Scott answers.

“Man, what the hell? It’s--”

“Sorry, sorry. I know. I just... My dad. He came with me today,” he blurts. Scott goes quiet and it’s then that Stiles hears another voice and realizes Allison is over. “Shit, dude. Sorry. SORRY, ALLISON!” he whisper-shouts.

Scott covers the phone and says something, then comes back on the line. “She says don’t worry about it. Is everything okay? Is he like--he’s not changing his mind, right? He isn’t going to make you go off the hormones?”

Stiles chokes up then because Jesus fucking Christ, this is _huge_. “No. No, he--he didn’t. He just. I’m getting the top surgery. At the beginning of summer so I’m healed by the time school starts again. My dad--he wants--he said he wants--” He can’t finish because he’s really about to fall apart.

“Wow. Wow, man. That’s. Shit. Stiles, dude, it’s happening.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles croaks.

“Wow. God, but it’s still ass o’clock, you jerk. Call me tomorrow. We’ll hang out after the meeting.” There’s the sound of the phone being muffled for a moment again, and then, “Allison claims she already has plans with Lydia tomorrow, so it’ll be just you and me.”

Stiles could almost kiss Allison.

There’s another rush of euphoria, and he wants to let it sweep him away, but Scott is, for once, being the voice of reason. And he points out something Stiles is really surprised he didn’t remember sooner.

“Hey, dude. Um, isn’t Derek in your guest room?”

“Shit.” Stiles hangs up and turns around, arms crossing protectively over his chest even though he still has on the binder, but his room is empty and the door is still closed. He opts to keep the binder on for one night -- he won’t make a thing of it because he knows it will chafe -- and tugs on his dad’s old college t-shirt, then slips into his bed before saying, “It’s safe, Derek.” He’s barely finished speaking before the door swings open and Derek is there, studying Stiles’ face like maybe it holds the answer to world peace. Or at least werewolf hunger. “Er.”

“I came down earlier. You were really out of it.”

“Oh. Oh, did you get anything to eat? Are you hungry? I can make something.” Derek’s eyebrows go up and Stiles goes on the defense. “You’re totally judging me for cooking, aren’t you?”

“My mother couldn’t boil water to save her life. My father did all the cooking. So no, I’m not stereotyping you based on your biological gender, Stiles. Please. And if you accuse me of it again, I will bounce your head off something harder than a steering wheel.”

Stiles rubs at his head in remembered pain, then glares at the tiny upturn in Derek’s lips. “That really hurt, you dick.”

“You totally deserved it, don’t pretend like you didn’t. Anyway, I just came to check on you.”

“Oh, yeah. No, I’m fine. It was just--it was kind of a day, you know? A good day, just. A day.”

Rather than reply with words, Derek holds up the book he was reading earlier. Stiles is more than a little surprised he didn’t recognize it sooner. Because in Derek’s hand is the copy of ‘ _FTM: Female-to-Male Transsexuals in Society_ ’ that Stiles picked up after one of his appointments with Dr. Grayson. And this, of everything that Derek has said and done, -- or not said and not done, because sometimes that’s even greater -- this is the thing that steals Stiles’ breath away the most.

Derek crosses the room to sit on the bed beside Stiles, pausing halfway to allow Stiles time to refuse. When he doesn’t, Derek moves until he’s stretched out on the bed beside Stiles, leaning back against the head board. They sit shoulder-to-shoulder, the book open in Derek’s hand and he begins to read aloud, voice low.

Stiles is half-asleep before Derek finishes the chapter, lulled by the even ebb and flow of Derek’s voice. He feels safe and comfortable and happy and exhausted and so emotionally drained he can’t stand it. So when Derek finally sets aside the book, turns out the light, climbs off the bed and presses the softest, most awkward kiss ever to Stiles’ temple, he’s completely oblivious. Or mostly. He maybe thinks he dreams that last bit, but he’s not about to ask Derek.

~ * ~ * ~

He dreams of flying a kite. Of his mother and father and a picnic on a hill top. He dreams of the pack and Derek’s house and running through the forest. Running and running, until he reaches a pond. And when he peers into the water, his reflection greets him, jaw more square, stubble on its cheeks, bare chest flat, if scarred. And when it speaks, it speaks with Stiles’ voice, but deeper. It says,

“I am you. I am what awaits you. We’re almost here. Just wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had two follow-up scene ideas. Somehow two became three became four became...well, ended in eight. Possibly there will be more, but not until after NaNoWriMo. For now, I am officially on fandom hiatus. This has all been researched to the best of my abilities. The title comes from the lyrics of ‘Forty Six & 2,’ by Tool.


End file.
